


a little give

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Daddy Kink, Drunk Sex, Grinding, Light BDSM, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Trans Male Character, they're both trans!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Garak accidentally lets something slip out.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	a little give

At some point, somewhere, things had escalated. Neither of them had really figured out the _exact point_ where, but at _some point_ , their weekly lunches had become never-to-be-missed lunch dates. Intimacy between them rose in a welcomed crescendo, escaping the confines of time or any formal dating- though, Bashir felt that he was coming pretty close. The date meant nothing to Garak beyond the excitement that his partner felt from it: September 22.

It was three days before that, in Quark’s bar, that something more directly meaningful to Garak came to pass.

Kanar flowed fast and loose in Quark’s, but never more so than when Garak was on a bender. To call it a ‘bender’ may have been impolite- he still had his wits about him as much as any man. Mentally, he felt fine, _better_ than fine now that he had a copious amount of kanar in him; but deep in the pit of his stomach, Garak felt butterflies. Bashir’s hand on his wrist usually helped to deter the feeling, but that day it seemed to persist undeterred. One of Bashir’s long, willowy fingers ran down the length of Garak’s hand, and he twitched, kanar splashing out of his cup.

“My goodness, doctor, you should _warn_ a man before pulling a stunt like that!”

An overreaction, but a calculated one. He watched the way that Bashir’s face lit up in a smile, that his cheeks took on just that little bit of a blush. Bashir always blushed when he drank- genetics, Garak had been assured. It was still adorable.

“I barely touched you!”

_You should touch me more and see what happens._ No, too forwards- again, he still had his wits about him. Garak smirked, pulling Bashir’s hand towards him. Bashir went limp, unprotesting, as Garak began to trace along the lines of his partner’s palm, unfamiliar and uncaring of the destinies which were said to lie within. Bashir’s little blush was growing, as was the crowd’s attention to them.

It was a game that they both played: ‘how much can we get away with’. They were players in their everyday lives, in their careers, in the sanctity of the quarters that they respectively called home. Jules toyed with it in the medbay and Garak pushed the boundaries in his tailor shop, and now, in Quark’s bar, in front of everyone, they both recognized _that they were losing_. Too many eyes were on them, too many figures hovering close. It wasn’t their relationship that was the issue, no, not especially in Quark’s (the pairings that they saw hang around the Dabo table? Scandalous!), but rather how obviously they were going about it.

“Let’s get going.”

There was a palpable sauciness dripping from Garak’s words as they slid off of his tongue. His hand let go of Bashir’s, moving instead to guide his partner’s shoulder up. Up, away from the table, away from the bar. Into one of their quarters which were becoming so hard to distinguish from the other’s. Garak would trip over Jules’s discarded clothes, and likewise there would be little tailoring implements left in the nooks and crannies of his counterpart’s room. It was a fine way to live- dealing with your partner’s mess. Neither of them minded.

“Are you leading the way, _sir_?”

Bashir pushed at Garak’s shoulder. It was a light touch, but still Garak recoiled.

" _Mm_ , don’t push me, daddy.”

Time stood still.

“What did you just say?”

If they were losing the game before, the game could now be considered **_lost_ **. Garak felt the eyes of bar goers burning into his back as he watched Bashir slowly rise, all while he remained seated. His other hand- which had never left his cup of kanar- shook slightly, almost imperceptibly, but enough to make the kanar slosh. Bashir’s blush was gone, replaced with a look of sheer surprise. Garak scanned his face for anger, and even when there was none to be found, still he felt sure that he had just made the mistake of the millennium.

“I said not to push me. Nothing more,” Garak assured Bashir, lying.

“You,” Bashir’s hand returned to Garak’s shoulder, and though it was against his cold-blooded nature, Garak almost felt sure that _he_ was now blushing. “Said much more than that. I’m sure of it.”

With the surety of a man falsely accused of a crime, combined with the full effects of his past two glasses of kanar, Garak slurred out: “I did nothing of the sort!”

“You don’t want to admit it!”

“People are _staring_ , doctor!”

Indeed they were, but almost none of them had heard the term uttered; those of them that _had_ heard hadn’t a clue of the connotations. It was a single word, a single, _simple_ little word that Garak himself had only thought to use that way recently. He was sure that Bashir knew exactly how it was meant- just as he was sure that he would never live it down.

Finally, Garak rose from his seat, downing as much of the kanar as he could stomach at once. He would not give in to the accusations. He _couldn’t_ give in to them. Bashir’s hand was warm on his shoulder, and he smirked at his companion as he turned to face him.

“I understand that your ears may be playing tricks on you, this _loud bar_ and all-”

“I know what I heard, Garak.”

“Is that so?”The last of the kanar disappeared, and Garak finally stepped away from the table. Bashir’s hand had slipped lower, guiding Garak’s lower back; Garak would have swatted him away, were it not a genuine help. He wobbled a bit on his feet before grabbing the railing beside the bar, leading the way for them both back to- he thought for a second- yes, this was now a journey for Bashir’s quarters.

* * *

No sooner had they reached Bashir’s quarters than did the questioning begin.

“So what was that, back there?”

Jules stepped around Garak as the door slid open, beckoning him in. Garak sighed. He hardly needed to be  _ invited inside _ \- he would come in if he chose to. In his mind, he knew that he was finding petty things to be upset about, desperately grasping for anything with which to deflect. He knew, too, that eventually he’d  _ have _ to confront what he’d said in the bar, but that was a thought that sat sourly in the pit of his stomach. 

The feeling from earlier returned, and he grimaced as he stepped into Bashir’s quarters.

“I’ve no clue what you mean, darling.”

Was he laying it on a bit thick? Maybe. Was it helping? Likely not.

“What you said, back there,” Jules seemed nearly  _ giddy _ to point it out, jabbing a finger at Garak’s chest. “Where did that come from!?”

“We must have very different recollections of today’s events, because I remember nothing out of the ordinary. We sat, we drank-”

“ _ You called me ‘daddy’! _ ”

There was a beat of silence.

“Oh, why don’t you go die, then.”

Garak threw his coat to the side, but Bashir was undeterred. Spurred on, even, he let out an ‘aha!’ before continuing,

“You  _ never _ say that when I’m wrong. You only say that when I’m right and you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

“Stubborn? No, I believe that I’ve only chosen to preserve the tattered scraps of my dignity. It was a mistake.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Bashir grabbed both of Garak’s hands. He looked up into his partner’s eyes- warm, the color of brandy- and sighed again. He felt a resurgence of his teenage self, what with all of the sighing that he was doing tonight. He moved to step away, but Bashir didn’t budge.

“I’ve no idea what you mean. Now, let go.”

“No. Listen to me.”

Bashir’s hands tightened. If he really wanted to, Garak could say the word- a word that they’d both agreed on, for moments like this- and he could break away. He could go off and sulk about what he’d accidentally said, and their sex life could stay the way that it had been since that so-insignificant anniversary date. Instead, Garak recalled what he had thought of earlier- how his mind had begged for Bashir’s touch, and how his mouth had cursedly followed. He made an equivalent gesture to cocking his eyebrows.

“I’m listening.”

“It doesn’t have to be a mistake. I didn’t think you liked that. I didn’t- hell, I didn’t realize that you knew what that  _ meant _ . Or what it meant there. I know that you know the word, obviously, I-”

“Are you done?”

Bashir’s hands tightened once more, and Garak let out a little yelp.

“Don’t cut me off,” He added under his breath, “ _ But yes, I’m done _ .” Bending down to turn the gesture into a kiss, Bashir’s lips met Garak’s hot and fast. It was more of a mash of teeth than it was a romantic gesture, but that’s how it often was between them- thankfully, that much hadn’t managed to slip out of their bedrooms. There was still a bit of ambiguity to their gestures that they displayed in public, still a bit of a question of who was on top.

One of his hands slid lower, and the squeeze lessened. Bashir’s remaining hand didn’t fully relent, though, keeping its grip around the thinnest part of Garak’s wrists. Gark exhaled sharply as he felt Bashir’s hand grip the front of his pants, then repeated the breath as his partner groped harder.

“Is that all you’re going to do?”

“I don’t know. Have you done enough to deserve more?”

Garak smirked, his tone rising. “I know what you want from me.”

“Do you? It seems easy enough. Give me what I want, and you can have what you want.”

“Need I remind you, darling, that  _ you _ initiated this-”

Jules let go of Garak entirely, stepping back.

“Oh, you cur.”

“If I had slapped you, you’d have liked it.”

“You know me so well.”

It was how things often went between them, like before: a game of ‘how much could they get away with’. The difference was that here, only one of them tended to ever  _ lose _ . Things hadn’t gotten boring like that yet, with Bashir always coming out on top-  **_literally_ ** , Garak thought with a deepening smirk- and tonight seemed an opportune time to test that. The most valuable thing that Garak had learned in the Obsidian Order, after all, had been how to submit.

Garak was pinned against the wall before he knew it, wrists now raised above his head. He must have gotten lost in his thoughts- surely not a miscalculation of how much control he still held there, no. Jules ground one of Garak’s lips between his teeth nearly hard enough to draw blood, though not enough- never enough, Garak might add- to cause any actual damage.

One of Bashir’s hands was free again as the other pinned Garak’s wrists, but this time, his hand went to the side of Garak’s face.

“Are you going to behave yourself?”

“Of course.”

“Of course  _ what _ ?”

He huffed; Bashir tightened his grip with both hands, pulling Garak’s face towards him.

“Of course, daddy.”

Bashir smiled, and Garak wished incredibly much that he could have looked away. Not to avoid that smile, no- if he could have kept his eyes solely on  _ that _ , he wouldn’t have minded. It was seeing that smile be part of a broader, smug expression that killed him. To submit was the easy part; to feel the effects was where it became difficult. 

They joined their faces in another kiss, just as passionate as before, and Garak felt his partner’s hand begin to drift off of his face once more. It went down his neck, tracing lightly with long and willowy fingers; down his chest, managing to elicit a moan even through clothing. Down his hips, down just the beginning of his thigh, and then back up and beneath his shirt. His soft front was groped rather unceremoniously, but before he could verbally protest, Bashir’s hand was out once more.

Those long, nimble fingers traced a bit harder against the front of Garak’s pants than they had yet traced along the rest of his body. Bashir pressed his chest up against Garak’s as he began to work his hand a bit, feeling the folds of Garak’s pussy through his pants (almost as if they had been specially tailored to be so tight just should an event like this arise!). Garak pressed his hips back against his partner’s hand, and lowered both of his own.

“More, daddy.”

“Good. Good job.”

“Good…?” Garak prompted, gripping Bashir’s own front just as his partner let out a pleasured groan. It was a bit harder to service Jules through his own pair of pants, but it gave Garak enough to work with, at least.

“Good boy?” He sounded almost quizzical, before repeating more assuredly, “Good boy. So good for me.”

Garak twitched his fingers against Bashir, squeezing harder, and Bashir chose to up the ante by placing one of his legs between Garak’s thighs. He didn’t remove his hand, either, grinding harder against Garak’s front. Their kiss deepened once more, and Garak used his free hand to grip the back of Bashir’s neck. He was getting closer.

“More!”

“Say it and I will.”

“ _ More, daddy! _ ”

“Just- one more time-”

He made a mental note to call Jules  _ insatiable _ for that later. “Please, daddy, more!”

Bashir worked his hand harder, faster against Garak’s pussy, and Garak did his best to return the favor. As Garak felt himself getting closer, Bashir pulled his head back once again from the kiss, smirking.

“A bit-  _ ah _ \- pathetic of you, isn’t it?”

It was still part of the game- and a welcome part, at that. Garak groaned.

“Really, isn’t it? You’re  _ how many _ years my senior, and you’re calling  **_me_ ** that?”

“I can’t- get much closer, darling-!”

“Is that what you want to call me?” Bashir’s leg jerked. “You were doing so well.”

“Was I-  _ mm _ \- daddy? Was I doing good for you?”

It was Bashir’s turn to groan, and this time, his mouth went to the side of Garak’s neck rather than back to his partner’s lips. Garak gripped as tightly as he could at his partner, hands rendered nearly useless. Bashir bit and sucked at the side of his neck until he felt Garak begin to twitch, and then, on cue, he pulled back.

“Say it one more time for me.”

But the words could barely leave his mouth before Garak was beginning to say unprompted, “Please, daddy!!”

Bashir returned his hand to Garak’s front and, as unceremoniously as if he were performing a task for work, he helped his partner through the grips of his climax. There were whispered words between the two of them, embarrassments- though much appreciated- on both sides. As Bashir finally pulled away, slightly breathless, Garak looked into those brandywine eyes again.

“We will never speak of this again.”

“Oh, I _highly_ doubt that,” Bashir chuckled, though he was still obviously breathless. “At least not until you’ve helped me, as well.”

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't beta this at all. cheers!


End file.
